


i know you like this dirty pop

by brokendrums



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Hiatus fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9190034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/pseuds/brokendrums
Summary: Harry drops by while Niall is in Augusta for the Masters and isn't making any sense.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not as dirty as the title suggests. Cross-posting from tumblr [here](http://broken-drums.tumblr.com/post/142141953976/i-know-you-like-this-dirty-pop-niallharry).
> 
> Title from Dirty Pop - NSYNC

Niall groans to himself, wincing as he picks at a bit of skin right in the middle of his eyebrows that’s already starting to peel away. His face feels tight from where he’s got too much sun. It’s gummy from the alternate layers of suncream and moisturiser he’s been plastering over himself every half hour but crusty where it’s gathered like sleep near his tear ducts and in the bristly hair near his ears.

“Cry me a river,” Harry says, flopping down on the bed behind him.

“Piss off,” Niall says idly, ignoring the way he stretches out across the duvet. Niall can’t quite believe he’s here. He’d popped up just after Niall had finished on the course, no luggage or explanation except a sweet grin and a long, drawn out “ _heyyyyy_.” Niall had thought he was someone in a wig as his eyes adjusted to being inside after the intense sunshine. But Harry had loped in for a hug whether Niall wanted one or not and it felt familiar enough that Niall knew he was real.

When Niall had enquired further all he had gotten was a cryptic, “you told me you needed me, when you called me on the phone.”

But Niall hadn’t called him on the phone. He hasn’t spoken to him since January and the closest they’ve came is partaking in two separate conversations in their group chat that spanned nearly four days with the time difference between all four of them and it was on the merits of shoe insoles of all things. (Harry was for them. Louis was dead against. Liam couldn’t make up his mind and Niall couldn’t give a fuck.)

Niall had gotten him a pass for the Masters – just because he thought Harry would enjoy it most out of any of his friends and he vaguely remembers Harry saying he wished he could’ve joined Niall last year. But he hadn’t made much effort to invite him, leaving it longer and longer to try and contact him until the very last minute when he sent him a Snapchat of the tickets one morning at 4am and he was just in from Mahiki, drunk enough not to care that Harry would never snap him back. He never does.

The next morning Niall had been on a plane on his way to a great weekend of golf and sunshine, Harry slipping further from his mind.

But here he is.

“Oh, you knock me out,” Harry says, blowing a puff of air out of his mouth. The hair splayed across his face flickers away from his skin. He lifts his hands into the air, fingers pointed to the ceiling. “Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

“It’s fucking sore,” Niall tells him, picking futilely with his short fingernails at the little blemish. It looks red and obvious. A target in the middle of his forehead. He’s playing with Justin – Rose, that is – tomorrow and he wants to make a good impression. It’s hardly good form if he can hardly do a round of the links without turning into a blotchy tomato. It makes him feel so unprofessional. So immature.

He tells Harry as much in a half-muttered rant through clenched teeth as he tries to make the most of it without picking a hole in his forehead.

“Strawberry,” Harry disagrees, rolling onto his side on the bed. He lifts a leg so it’s propped up and Niall can catch a glimpse of his groin in his obscenely tight shorts before adding nonsensically. “Bubblegum.”

“Right.” Niall says slowly. Harry’s sounds looped. “Why can’t I just tan like you can?” Niall asks, stepping back from the mirror and looking at himself. He doesn’t look too bad. Not as good as Harry who is sporting a very fetching LA glow along with his usual semi down the inseam.

“What goes around, comes around, Niall,” Harry says, his tone serious. Niall glances up to catch how Harry looks like he’s trying very hard not to smile.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Yes, Harry. That’s what they say.” Niall fixes the collar of his polo where it’s rolled a little. For a split second, he considers taking it off to give it an iron and then shakes the thought from his head – he’s being too mumsy.

“Hurry up!” Harry says abruptly. “You’re taking too long.”

Niall glares at him in the mirror. “Well considering this is my hotel room and my trip, I think I can take my time.”

Harry bites his lip, fighting a laugh. “Take it to the bridge!”

Niall hasn’t a clue what’s wrong with him. He tweaks his collar again. “Right. Are you coming for a beer?”

“Stop!” Harry says suddenly, rolling off the bed. Niall freezes, raises his eyebrows. “Let me get a good look at it.” Harry giggles, reaching for his collar. Niall feels a bit at odds with having him so close after being away for him for so long. “Are you not gonna wear a suit and tie?”

Niall frowns. “No. We’re just going to the hotel bar.” Harry’s barely wearing clothes, for fuck’s sake, he’s hardly one to be criticising his attire.

Harry hums, stepping closer. “Drinks are on me.”

“Good.” Niall lifts his head out of instinct, Harry’s mouth is so close. He smells of the airport – recycled air and the cherry sweets he always sucks to make his ears pop. 

“If you look in the mirror, you’ll see me looking back you,” Harry says, his voice dropping down to a whisper. Niall can feel his breath skate across his lip. Harry frowns – Niall’s so close he can see how his skin folds on his forehead – and says, “No that’s not right. Hold on. It’s like you’re my mirror, staring back at me.”

Something twigs in the back of his mind but he’s too distracted by how plump and full Harry’s bottom lip looks this close. “What?” Niall asks faintly. “Have you already hit a bar on the way here? Drink too many of those little miniatures on the plane?”

Harry smiles, his mouth turning up. Niall’s missed it. Missed him.

“You look good,” Niall can’t help saying, pressing closer. It’s the truth.

“Thanks,” Harry says, his gaze dropping down to Niall’s mouth in return. “You too.” It only takes until Harry says, “Niall, you’re bringing sexy back,” for Niall to finally catch on.

“Fuck off,” Niall grunts out, shoving Harry in the shoulder as he breaks into uncontrollable laughter. “You have too much time on your hands to plan things like these.”

“I’m just naturally witty,” Harry says, his defence ruined by the grin growing across his face. Niall raises an eyebrow and Harry shrugs, nonchalant. “The plane had to circle the airport for a while before landing.”

“See,” Niall says, raising a hand as if to prove a point. “Too much time. You fucking came the whole way to Augusta just to take the piss out of me for hanging out with Justin?”

“Justin. _Justin_. On first name terms with him now, eh?” Harry laughs, throwing his head back with a laugh. “Wait til I tell Louis you’re trying it with Justin fucking Timberlake. It’s like a Justin Bucketlist.” Harry holds out a finger and starts to count them down. “Bieber, Rose and Timberlake. The Justin Trifecta.”

“Pretty sure he’s got a very pretty girlfriend,” Niall tells him as Harry wiggles his fingers at him. He’s so ridiculous.

Harry snorts. “Like that’s stopped you before.”

Niall rolls his eyes. He had forgotten how many times he’s forced to do that around Harry. He’ll never let him live down the Bieber-Gomez debacle. “Not my type.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, smirk making his face look crooked and sweet all at once. His gaze feels heavy, heavy enough for Niall’s skin to prickle. “What’s your type then?”

Niall ignores him, turning away to fiddle with his phone. “You know,” he mutters under his breath. _You_.

There’s a pause and then Harry’s hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t even get near any of the classics,” Harry pouts, stepping in close again. Niall takes the change of conversation gladly. “My little señorita.”

Niall snorts, trying to untangle himself from where Harry is looping his arms around his neck and resting on Niall’s shoulders. He can see him in the mirror, all tan and long and lean.

“Ladies and _gentlemen_ ,” Harry says loudly, putting on a voice that sounds nothing like Pharrell. He’s staring at him in the mirror, his eyes sharp. “It’s my pleasure to introduce to you, a friend of mine. From Mullingar, Ireland. Niall Horan.”

It sounds awkward, not as seamless as _from Memphis, Tennessee. My good friend, Justin_. But then again, Harry’s no Pharrell. 

Niall starts to laugh but Harry goes on, drifting seamlessly into singing. “Señor _Niall_ , I feel for you. He doesn’t love you I can tell by his charm. But you can feel this real love –” Harry grinds up against Niall, breaking character to laugh giddily into Niall’s neck.

“I wouldn’t bring the impression to Vegas, just yet,” Niall says, giving in and clutching Harry close to him. Harry’s still laughing, his nose rubbing against Niall’s jaw as they turn to each other.

And then they’re kissing. So suddenly, Niall’s not sure how.

Niall gasps into it, lifting a hand up to rub against Harry’s jaw clumsily, hauling him closer with the other hand. Harry laughs, tongue swiping out.

It’s nothing like he suspected. Or remembered from that one time, very long ago that seems like a figment of Niall’s imagination now. A fantasy never realised.

But this feels very real.

Harry’s everywhere – his warm skin, his pressing fingers. His hair tickles at Niall’s jaw, his mouth open and hot and wet.

It’s actually happening.

Harry’s hand slides down his side, untucking Niall’s polo from the waistband of his shorts and it’s with the first touch of his hot palm against the bare skin of his hip that makes Niall pull away.

“What?” Niall asks. He’s still pressed so close that he’s nearly looking at Harry crosseyed. “What is this?”

“I’m gonna rock your body.” Harry smiles at him, his bottom lip pink and plump and wet. He takes a breath. “I was already on the plane when I saw the picture.”

Niall grins, pressing closer. He can feel Harry pressed the entire way up his front but it’s not enough. “That was a poor performance,” Niall says, smiling up at Harry. “You didn’t even get any *Nsync ones in.”

Harry’s eyes crinkle. “I know. It’s tearing up my heart.”

Niall snorts but before he can retort, Harry’s kissing him again.


End file.
